Stand-In
by Mipiko
Summary: I wish I could find myself, steal my soul away from such an unbearable existence and bring it back to the happiness it once knew. If only I had the strength to break away, to pull the bars from the windows and jump.


You know, I don't think I was ever good enough for you.

You talk down to me, treat me like you're the best thing this life's ever seen and I should be honored to trail in your footsteps, as though I'm some sort of personal assistant to your genius mind and nothing more.

I'm constantly bombarded with your commands to fetch you this, take this away, fix this for you; but my compliance with the demands is never good enough, oh no. You need everything to be exactly the way you want it — or else.

I honestly couldn't care less how many sugars you like in your coffee, but I guess that's just it, isn't it? You spill the mug's contents on me, staining many of my favorite outfits, to make me care, make me want to get it right.

Too bad that will never happen.

Haven't you ever heard the old expression that tells you to do something yourself if you want it done right the first time?

You're using me. I know it.

You think you can cover up the fact by making sure there's always a new bag with shimmering tissue paper waiting for me near the bed on nights you were particularly sour, or by having the maids prepare bubble baths for me, the likes of which are far from relaxing because the scent of lavender never fails to remind me of you.

You think you're so clever, that you're hiding the truth from me more and more each day.

But I know.

I know that you're just stringing me along, like a hopeless fly tangled in a spider's web. You have the control, and you use it.

You never reach for me unless you've had a bit too much wine. Your arms provide no comfort to my trembling shoulders, your voice no solace to my unspoken grief.

You do, however, look at me, though that is the very thing I dislike the most.

You look, but you don't see.

You regard me with a kind of pitiful sympathy, as though I'll never amount to anything, as if my pathetic existence is whole only because you choose for it to be.

I despise your eyes because they show everything, and sometimes I don't want to know. The seemingly insignificant quips you throw at me on a daily basis, the obvious deceit, the disgust with which you regard even my purest of actions, the lack of need and compassion, let alone respect — it all pales in comparison to the superior shine of your gaze.

Your eyes give you away.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever really wanted me, or if it has always been her you were after. Perhaps you simply settled for me, the second-rate bride.

I'll bet you consider me with disappointment of a child who won the smaller stuffed animal at the country fair.

I'll bet you wish things had turned out differently, that it was her lying beside you at night. You might even nuzzle into the softness of her hair as the strands mingle on your pillow, desperate to memorize every texture of her body — not swat the tresses out of your way like some pesky impediment as you do mine.

I humor you. I brush off your comments about her. I say it doesn't matter, doesn't bother me.

But it does.

Oh, it _does_.

For all this I blame only myself. I could have walked away, turned and left you alone in the world just as I feel every day because of your insolence.

But I didn't, haven't, am unable to.

Maybe you're right about me. Maybe I am too weak to stand up for myself, to change the path of my destiny with the force of my own two hands. Maybe it's because I'm smothered here, trapped in this place with far too many windows and not enough doors.

The luxury is threatening. These walls stare me down, taunt me, tell me I'm nothing without them. It may be true. I think I've lost myself somewhere amongst the polished floors, the walls lavished with expensive art, the rich furniture.

I wish I could find myself, steal my soul away from such an unbearable existence and bring it back to the happiness it once knew. If only I had the strength to break away, to pull the bars from the windows and jump.

I will never be good enough for you, Piko.

I will never be my best friend.

But I _will _be free from this one day, one fateful day when the bitterness in my eyes gives me away.


End file.
